One Night in Arkham
by Joseph B. Nelms
Summary: Sometimes the the animals are not always in their cages. One night behind Arkhams doors..see what happens to a young, psychology intern, a nearly retired guard, and the various residents during chaos and total lockdown.
1. Prologue

**SYNOPSIS**

_Ask any Gothamite and they'll tell you that the one thing..the one structure they are most ashamed of is Arkham Asylum. One can not live within the city of Gotham without discussing the horrific reality that exists behind the asylum's doors. Though it stands as a beacon of modern humanity and it's hopes of rehabilitation for the "ill-minded," some would say that it exists as a reminder of Gotham's sins, a mockery to those who believe in it, and an utter failure to serve a purpose beyond further arming the clinically insane and sheltering them from a swift end._

_Benjamin Achgrove, a psychology intern from Gotham University, is set to begin his term working nights under the once respected psychiatrist, Dr. Philip Carter. Unbeknownst to Gotham PD a young, serial murder has taken an interest in Gotham City, specifically Arkham, with the single-minded goal to infiltrate the asylum. But to what ends...?_

**--**

**PROLOGUE**

"Nah, mom. Don't worry. I'm not authorized to be anywhere near the level five patients. My clearance level barely allows me to roam level one. Beyond that I have to literally shadow one of the resident psychologists and, if I'm lucky, a psychiatrist." Benjamin Achgrove signed heavily.

"Mom...MOM..we already discussed this, and I am too busy to go through it all over again. Arkham offers one of the best psychology internships that the nation has to offer. ...No...I'm not reading from the brochure again. This place literally has a corner on Schizophrenia, megalomania,...and just about any dissociative disorder you could possibly think of...maybe even multiple personality (DID). The point is I am very grateful to even get passed the doors on a field trip, let alone become one of their interns. ...There is nowhere else that could give me this level of experience. Safety protocols? Of course I know them. They wouldn't let me in here unless I understood them..by..the..letter!"

Achgrove took a sip of his coffee as he pretended to listen to his mother's rants. On the computer screen in front of him was the profile of patient number 50892666. He learned quickly on his first day that the first number always represented the security level in which the patient was placed, one being the lowest risk and five being the highest. The three numbers that followed were a series of scores to the evaluation of the patient. The first showed on a scale from 0-9 the progress a patient has made in their rehabilitative process (9 being the most progress). The next score indicated the patient's absolute grip on reality; this does not necessarily mean our reality. The last number in the sequence represented the effect of the patient's level of mental disorder on the world around him (in short, this is to greater emphasize the danger). The final sequence of numbers represented the patient's randomized identification number; this number is merely a sick coincidence, in this case. Punching the tab key a few times, he located the patients name:

Real Name:Unknown Alias: "The Joker"

Interns are denied both physical and technical access to patients beyond level one. Achgrove glanced over both shoulders, adjusted his glasses, and grinned slightly in the darkness.

"Mom...MOM...I gotta run. They want me to sit in on a patient eval. ...Some guy that thinks his fingers talk to him..good stuff. Yeah...yeah...k...I'm hanging up now...k...k...bye.." Click Achgrove hung up the phone, cutting his mother's words mid-sentence and quickly glanced back at his computer screen.

"Why must artists suffer for their work? Whether it be self-punishment or the persecution of others, why must they be in pain when there is so much that can be taught by their hands?!" Achgrove calmed himself as he wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his sleeve...sweat that fell from great anticipation.

"No...no," he sighed. "It's not near time, my friend. Soon though..soon you shall paint again..so sharpen your paintbrush." Achgrove stood to his feet and slightly touched the monitor...touched the picture of his favorite artist, and then he punched a series of algorithms into the computer and left the room.


	2. Chapter 1: To What Goes Unseen

**PART ONE: THE INTERNSHIP**

CHAPTER 1: To What Goes Unseen

"Two more hours." The old guard said while sipping on his coffee. "Two more hours and I can turn my uniform in for a tropical shirt and loafers. No more badges, no more bed checks, no more crazies..." A snicker came from the opposite side of the guard station.

"Dream on Frank! You may leave this building, but after being here for thirty years even retiring won't erase the memories of what you've seen. I wouldn't be surprised if you still slept with your gun under your pillow."

It was true, Frank Jameson had seen many things since he joined the ranks of Arkham's finest, but it was time to put all that behind him. He and his wife were going to pack up tomorrow and leave for Jamaica and nothing the other boys could say would stop him. "Just keep flapping your gums Percy. Nobody is going to forget this place quicker than me."

The younger man smiled briefly before extending his hand. "Well, it's been amazing getting to know you. I hope you won't forget me when you get to paradise."

Frank clasped the man's hand in a hearty handshake. "Alright Percy, it's been a ball, but it's not like this is a funeral. Come on, you still get to talk to the nuts."

Percy rolled his eyes, "Great, next thing you'll say is 'Percy, you get to have dinner with the psych ward.' Whoopty freaking doo."

Jameson laughed heavily and looked up at the clock. "Hrmph, I've overstayed my break. I guess that until I finish this shift I am property of the state." Jameson grabbed his club and cap and opened the door to the hallway. "Here I go again."

**Elsewhere...**

"Dr. Carter...Dr. CARTER..."

"Oh, Ben...there you are," the old man said in surprise as his eyes fell upon who was shouting his name. "You're a tad late for your next shift...family troubles?"

"I'm really sorry, sir. You know how it is...mothers...can't ever seem to cut those apron strings," Achgrove replied. The two men shared a laugh at the expense of the younger man's mother.

"Aye, I may not look it, but I too had a mother, hehe. Well, now to business. Did you check on those files I asked you about in the tech lab?"

"Yes sir, Dr. Carter. I brought a hard copy as well; I hope you don't mind." Achgrove retrieved a few pieces of paper from the folder his folder. "This is merely so that I may see how everything is applied and taken into account. As soon as we're done I will take them to personnel and have them shredded immediately."

"Patient confidentiality first..always," Carter said with a wink. Indeed, the old doctor had grown quite fond of Achgrove. The kid had an incredible head on his shoulders-bright...top of his class in fact with an inquisitive personality, light sense of humor, and punctuality that demanded notice, which led Carter to find it strange for Achgrove to be late today; he never had been in the past.

"Today is your day, Ben," Carter announced as he slid his id badge into the seriously outdated card slot.

"My day?" Ben asked, slightly unsure as the door opened before them.

"Yeah. Level 4, Ben...Level 4. It'll only be brief. I have to stop there shortly, and then we will proceed immediately back to our rounds on 2. Ben, you'll be the first intern to go down there. Normally, that's unheard of, mostly for your own safety and ours. You understand right? Anyways, well Ben, you are the best intern I've ever had and that deserves rewarding, however brief it may be."

Achgrove smiled widely acting a bit embarrassed by the doctors compliments...acting. He knew better, old fool. Quinzel was down on Level 4. One thing the ol' doc failed to notice was that Achgrove was extremely observant and had reading people down to an art form. Like clock work every night, Dr. Carter would go down to Level 4, room 8 and look in on Miss Quinzel, only briefly as to not arouse anything beyond professional interest. Then, he would proceed to the faculty men's room on Level 2 for a few brief minutes...you know..a little "self-indulgence" before actually doing some work. Hey, he had to keep up appearances, right? What would people say, if they found out? I mean, seriously, who's crazier...the people in here...or the doctor claiming to be treating patients while ogling Harley Quinn?

Soon they reached the doors before Level 4 and Carter buzzed the guard. "Wait here at the guard station," he said as he flashed his badge and began walking down the corridor.

"Right, Dr. Carter. ...take...your...time...I'll...be here..." Achgrove trailed off. He put his hands in his lab coat and propped himself against the wall with one leg, looking out at the "freaks." "Pretenders," he thought to himself. "Quinn's the only enlightened one among you." As always, Achgrove surveyed his surroundings, attempting to look like nothing more than the eager intern exploring what could one day be his domain. Really, though, he was committing the level to memory...every door...every cell...every camera. Level 4 was quite different than what was shown in the blueprints he had managed to pull up on the computer; so many renovations. They had to be done. In the past it was learned the hard way that cleaning chemicals and the psychotic do not mix well, especially when the Joker is involved. Problem is only so much can be done with Arkham's budget. The rooms were as Achgrove expected them to be. Still, it would take more than just a spike in the power grid to bring about the desired effect, and he had little time-tonight was his best chance and he knew this...the policemen's ball. Every criminal...every piece of scum in Gotham knew that on this night less police were out on the streets; this included guards in Arkham. Tonight, there would be a skeleton shift. Tonight, freedom would become merely an illusion to the people of Gotham and the Painter would create his next masterpiece.

A grin, almost evil, crossed Achgrove's face as he caught a glimpse of Dr. Carter approaching out of the corner of his eye. He moved to stiffen himself upright, and as he did the side of a tiny jar lifted just slightly out of his pocket and then sank back again. The label read Daggett Industries, but no one saw it.


	3. Chapter 2: A Taste of Reality

**PART ONE: THE INTERNSHIP**

CHAPTER 2: A Taste of Reality

Fredrick Hamons looked up shaking his head as Dr. Carter made his way past Quinn's cell. Did no one else notice it? Granted he understood that Dr. Carter was a brilliant psychiatrist, but Hamons always had a problem with corruption. It was why his old job ended the way it did, with a pat on the back, a disability check, and his name on an endless list of Gotham PD officers who had been grievously injured in the line of duty.

Though the check had helped him make ends meet till he went through nursing school and landed his job at Arkham, the whole mess had left him with neither wife nor friends and beyond that little reason to be happy. With that in mind, his apparent lack of having a real life was probably the reason he had been selected for the high security job. He had all the knowledge, compassion, and legitimate desire to help, but he was and ex-cop, who had been put out of commission by one of these freaks; as such he was more than willing to apply that little bit of extra edge if called for with the higher level patients.

Checking over the last few med orders, upping a few of them that he knew where just attempts at budget cuts, he signed off on the tray for the orderly to take about the wing and distribute before putting his feet back up on his desk and returning to his game of tossing a pencil into the ceiling. Dr. Carter was coming back by again, and like he did every night, Hamons considered writing up an I-60 to administration to let inform them of the "situation." But as much as he hated himself for it, that hag personally killed three people he had left with at the academy. Carter could open the food slot and do his business on her instead of going to the restroom for all he cared.

Two more hours and he was off duty for the weekend, and he would get to go see his kids. Hamons hated almost everything about his life. His job, his pension, his cheating wife and the way he had been given the shove at the PD, but his children, Emily and Stephen, were what kept him going each day. Looking at their picture on his desk, he took a deep breath and nodded his head. "Yeah, I know I can't stop just yet," he said before standing up and walking out of his shared office to make another set of bed checks.

Jameson's Patrol...

Listening to the steady clip clop of his shoes on the linoleum floor, Jameson went over the roll sheet on his clipboard; he needn't carry it as he knew every name and the placement of every resident, but it was required of the guards on patrol. As he made note of the activities of each of the patients he came to a stop in front of a meticulously clean cell.

"How ya doing today Mr. Fugate?" He acknowledged the man who stood on the other side of the protective glass.

"You're three minutes late, Sergent," replied Fugate in his blunt and straightforward tone.

"Nothing sneaks by you, eh Mr. Fugate? How have the meds been treating you? I hope they are up to the _mighty_ Clock King's standards." Frank stifled a chuckle as he checked Fugate's name off of the roster.

"Your attempt at mocking me is to no avail, I assure you. _You_, as much as I, are slaves to the clocks that run this world."

"Some of us more than others, Mr. Fugate. I'll see you on my way back, now don't go anywhere." Jameson quirked a grin up at the tightly wound spindle of a man before proceeding with his rounds. "I have enough to worry about on a regular basis without bending to the time clock of a madman."

His footfalls soon brought him upon a lone man in a white coat staring almost transfixed by his subject. "Excuse me doctor, but this isn't a petting zoo. I'm sorry, but if you don't have clearance to be here, then you will need to go back to the northern guard station." At that moment Frank realized to whom he was speaking.

"Oh...Dr. Carter. What the heck are you doing in my neck of the woods?" A coy smile showed from behind his innocent expression.

"What the heck? How apropos. I was just observing one of my patients in her natural environment...well as natural as we can give them."

Jameson furrowed his graying brow and looked into the cell. "Quinzel...didn't know she was one of yours. I heard she used to be a doctor round these parts herself."

"That is correct. She really understood what the psychotic mind was capable of and knew how to unlock its secrets. As you can see, her current state is a testament to this."

Frank frowned and looked around her cell at the bare, white walls. Her hair was frayed and she sat quietly on a stool staring back out at them. "Now she's one of them. Weird how the world works. I guess its a hazard of the job, especially when you're tagging around with that lunatic Joker downstairs."

At Jameson's words Quinn stood up in the cell and grabbed the stool hurling it at the two men. The plastic stool bounced off of the glass and knocked her back to the ground screaming.

"You shut up about **MY PUDDIN****'**! Mr. J's more man than any of you stiffs put together!"

Frank watched closely as Dr. Carter walked up to the glass and tapped on it with his pen. "And now, he's in maximum security lockup, and you are here alone and the only way you'll ever breath fresh air again is if you play nice and cooperate with me. Understand?"

Harley stood and resumed her position on the stool watching, not them anymore...just him, the doctor. Some days the psych doctors seem just as nuts as the patients. "Well, Dr. Carter...I still need to see papers, or I'm going to have to escort you back to the elevator."

The doctor glared harshly at Jameson before turning back towards the way he came. "What a last night?" Frank said under his breath. He turned back and looked at Harley, who had pulled her feet onto the top of the stool and began humming a little song to herself. Jameson just shook his head and checked her off the list. "Going to need to see who authorized a stool in there. Plastic or not, it still don't seem safe."

Reaching the rather curt conversation between the two men in front of Quinn's cell Hamons shook his head as the doctor walked off. He always liked Jameson. The man was old school law enforcement through and through; something you did not find on the psych end of the staff.

"Carter ordered the stool about three weeks ago," Hamons revealed. "He couldn't stand seeing his 'girlfriend' forced to sit on the far side of the room on the edge of her bed," Hamons commented as he checked over Quinn's med log before looking into her cell. The curl of his top lip was almost undeniable as he signed off that all of her meds were current and accounted for.

"We had to send in a team last week when she refused to take meds, and one member of the team got a broken nose. She's stronger than she looks."

**Elsewhere...**

"What's troubles you, Dr. Carter?" Achgrove asked, expressing deep concern as the two men made their way to the elevator.

"Inter-office malarkey, Ben," Carter answered, seemingly dismissing the whole ordeal. "Nothing to worry about, but prepare yourself for it. Comes with the territory of making more money than your coworkers."

"I'm sure it does. So, Level Two, now? I am anxious to proceed with our rounds."

"In due time. I'm glad to see that you still have your passion for the work; when you get old, though, the toilet becomes a dear friend that you can't neglect," Carter laughed aloud at his own joke attempting to keep the conversation light.

_"Especially when you can't perform at home," _Achgrove thought to himself with a smile.

As the elevator doors opened on Level 2, Carter motioned for Achgrove to follow him. After a few routine "badge flashes," they stood before the nurse station. Carter spoke briefly with one of the LVNs in a low voice...as if he had something to hide. The geriatric actually believed that he was a regular Casanova. He failed to see the slight disgust in the young woman's eyes that she disguised with a giggle-the same unmistakable look that Achgrove had seen in the eyes of Carter's wife, Amy, only days before when she had visited the good doctor in his office; Carter took her for granted, and she was young, foolish, and incredibly beautiful. Amy was his possession, and she did nothing to refute the claim-even went as far as completely looking the other way when she discovered his "abnormalities" and periodic attempts at affairs. She was not a little angel herself. Surprising enough to his close friends, who already suspected Amy's infidelity, Carter did not exhibit any sort of anger or pain. Achgrove, though, knew the rest of the story-the "behind-the-scenes" of the marital bliss of two liars. To Carter, his wife's sins were merely a projection of her lack of understanding of her true need for him…a need that must be realized…she would remember that he owns her.

Carter soon grew bored with the young girl and began making his way towards the faculty men's restroom. "Sick perv," Achgrove thought to himself. "The man has a restroom in his office and yet does this in one of the faculty stalls. I guess the thought of someone walking in heightens the experience.

"So, how are you enjoying the internship?" The LVN spoke up, catching him off guard as he watched Carter walk away.

Achgrove's face had started to itch and burn. He had little time. "Heheh, fine…just great and…" Achgrove paused when he noticed a newspaper sitting on the nurse's desk, glanced in the direction of Carter, and then back at the girl. "Bah, hold that thought. Dr. Carter needs the paper. Something about trying to sell his boat, and he wants to see how the article came out."

The young nurse smiled and handed him a copy of today's paper. Achgrove tucked it under his arm and walked hurriedly after his mentor. He pulled a small slip of paper by its edges out of his pocket and placed it inside the center of the newspaper.

"Dr. Carter," he said, trying carefully not to draw attention.

"Ben…what's on your mind?" The old man asked.

"Oh, I thought, since we're taking a break, that you would wish to see today's paper. Aren't you a member of the yacht club?"

"Vice president, actually. Thanks, I…. am shopping for a new yacht." Carter placed the paper under his arm, unlocked the men's room with his key, and proceeded inside. "I won't be long. Why don't you grab yourself a snack."

Achgrove nodded. He turned to leave, but as the door was closing he grabbed the handle, keeping the knob turned as he pulled it closed. He waited a few moments with his back to the door, surveying the area. Once satisfied he quickly pulled a pair of latex gloves onto his hand and quietly entered the bathroom.

Achgrove could hear Carter in the farthest stall. The second to the last stall was open, so he entered it. His face began to burn worse, yet no sound escaped his lips. Upon removing his coat and top shirt, he retrieved two shoelaces from his right pants' pocket and waited on top of the toilet seat for his opportunity.

The ability to improvise is the mark of highly capable killer. To be effective, one must assess the situation and adapt accordingly. Achgrove was a master of it without thinking. He could react as if this was all a story, and each moment revealed a piece of it to him.

The sound of ruffling papers could be heard. Achgrove fell into position…and the state of mind. It was almost as if he unhinged something in his personality…released any sort of constraint or inhibition he held. He hung his head low as his complexion changed. His eyes appeared to dilate as he wrapped the shoelaces tighter around his gloved hands. His breathing slowed and so did his heartbeat.

The small piece of paper, a photograph, fell to the floor of Carter's stall.  
"Hey…what've we got here…?" There was a short pause as the old doctor picked up the photo and realized its story.

"What the…?" He gasped. "Amy…. oh God…Amy no…no…oh...baby…no…no what have I done…" There was a long pause, as Carter seemed to be putting things together in his mind, formulating a probable theory.

"Achgrove!" He hissed through his teeth. "It has to be HIM!"

Suddenly, Carter was on his feet and sliding the lock open on his stall door. Achgrove dropped from the toilet into a crouch and moved under the divider that separated him from Carter. The older man was barely a foot out of the stall before he felt his neck wrench back.

"Haaccgro!" Carter attempted to scream the only thing that came to mind while he struggled. He was too weak and too old. Achgrove slammed Carter's head hard into one divider of the stall and then the opposite. The old man continued to struggle in vain, but he was clearly overpowered and quickly losing strength. All he was left with was to ask "why…why…why" over and over again. Achgrove placed a hard kick to the side of Carter's left knee; the break could be clearly heard. The doctor fell to his knees in agony as the perpetrator bent near his ear.

"There's no Achgrove here, old man. I killed him, just as I killed your wife. You may refer to me as Elegy"

"You're….sick," Carter rasped, barely above a whisper.

"Sick is hiring someone to kidnap your wife and scare her. I gotta tell you, doc. She looked plenty scared before I cracked her skull in with one of your golf clubs. Don't worry, the coastguard will find her body soon enough aboard your yacht."

"Gaack…wh…why are you d…doing th…this?"

"You haven't figured that out yet? Good! It is no concern of yours. You're nothing special, merely part of the means to an end."

Elegy's voice grew lower. "This is usually the part where you bargain…beg…offer me the world…No? Ok, give your wife my love."

"Aaaaaaaa…nooooooo!" Carter attempted to scream, but he was cut short, as Elegy snapped is neck.  
"Sorry…. that's no longer your choice."

The next few minutes went by mechanically for Elegy. He took the doctor's keys and key card and flushed his gloves and the shoelaces down the toilet. Next, he drug the body over to the janitorial closet that stood in front of the last stall. Trying every key, he finally unlocked the door and moved the body inside, locked the door back, and then broke the key off in the keyhole with a hard kick. Elegy then made himself presentable once again, getting dressed and adding the proper touches with the cream from the jar in his pocket. Within moments he would be Ben Achgrove again and for now that would be enough.


End file.
